


Harvest

by Pink_Dalek



Series: Drive [5]
Category: Endeavour
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 16:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15223133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_Dalek/pseuds/Pink_Dalek
Summary: Here’s the grand finale: fluffy and with a tooth-rottingly happy ending.





	Harvest

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s the grand finale: fluffy and with a tooth-rottingly happy ending.

Autumn started giving an air of crispness to the late-summer air in September, as Morse  found himself nosing around a strange little town called Bramford on a cold case from County, the disappearance of an Oxford botanist, that Thursday wanted to take a second look at. He described Bramford to Joan over dinner at the Lamb and Flag.

“Did you ever read _Cold Comfort Farm_?” she asked.

“No.”

“It sounds like Cold Comfort Farm, only extended to an entire village. Is there a Seth or a Reuben?”

“There’s a Seth.”

“That’s it: you’ve found Cold Comfort Village. Take notes— there might be a novel in it for you to write.”

“I was never any good at creative writing.”

 

The town was near the Bramford nuclear plant, which seemed to have some connection to the disappearance. But all of Morse’s attempts to get any information came to naught, as he mentioned to Dorothea Frazil.

“I’m scheduled to do an interview with their director. How are you with a camera?”

“Decent enough, I suppose.”

Which was how he ended up being smuggled into the plant. “This is my photographer, Snappy Jenkins,” Dorothea told the guard.

“Snappy?” Morse asked once they’d driven past the gate.

“You can be. Not so much lately, I’ve noticed. You’ve actually said ‘please’ when you’ve asked for my help recently. Are you under new management?” Dorothea chuckled at the look Morse gave her.

Afterward, driving back towards Oxford, Morse asked her to drop him off in the countryside. “I could do with a walk. Clear my head a bit.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m good, really. I just need to do a bit of thinking. Things would be easier if I’d gotten my sergeant’s, or had some faith in getting it. I’ve had a job offer in London, with the Met. It would mean rank and a pay increase, but— “

“You’re settled in Oxford. Or is it someone else who’s settled here?” Dorothea’s tone was knowing.

“I can’t exactly ask anyone sensible to yoke herself to a man who can’t get past detective constable.”

“People do remarkable things for love every day. You won’t know if you don’t try.”

Morse gave a little sigh as he opened the passenger door. “Thanks for the lift.”

 

Fred brought Morse back to the Thursday house a bit after dawn. Win had just come downstairs, and let out a little cry of distress at the trickle of blood at Morse’s temple.

“It’s nothing serious, pet. I’ll get him cleaned up and bandaged, if you’ll put the kettle on.”

“I’ll start breakfast. Something to eat will do you both good.”

Joan woke to low voices, and two heavy treads coming up the stairs. “I’m not talking too loudly, am I? I don’t want to wake Joan— Miss Thursday.”

“You can call her Joan in front of me, lad. And you’re not talking too loudly at all.”

“I can’t quite tell. It’s not as bad as it was, but my ears are still ringing. You wouldn’t happen to know what’s standard procedure if a police officer chooses to attend anti-nuclear demonstrations, would you?”

“As long as you’re off duty, not wearing a uniform, or flashing your warrant card, I don’t see a problem with it. A copper has the right to free speech, same as any other British subject. Thinking of becoming active?”

“I don’t want my children, should I have any, growing up under threat of what almost happened.”

Joan heard Morse and her dad go into the bathroom, the door closing behind them. She rose and put on her dressing gown, wiped the sleep from her eyes, and hastily brushed her hair before hurrying downstairs. “What happened?”

“I’ve no idea. Morse had a bit of a bump on the head. Your dad is patching him up.”

They both looked grim and tired when they returned. Joan went straight to Morse, placing gentle fingers to the plaster on his temple. “Are you all right?” He nodded, leaning into her touch.

After breakfast Win insisted they both get some sleep, sending Morse to Sam’s room. Joan was scheduled to open Paisley Dreams, and looked in on him before she left. He’d stripped down to vest and trousers and was sprawled across the bed, snoring softly.

 

Neither Morse nor Fred would say much about the case afterward. Joan expected it of her father, but Morse’s silence was different— it had a grim quality she was unaccustomed to. “I can’t talk about it. Really,” he insisted.

“What is it, Classified?” she joked. At his silence, her eyes widened. “Morse— what did you do?”

When the _Oxford Mail_ came out with a story about an incident at the nuclear power plant near Bramford Joan devoured it, then went back and re-read it. And a third time, parsing out what was left unsaid. It was all very soothing, but something bigger had happened, and Morse and her dad had been in the middle of it. She’d teased Morse about saving the world recently, but now she suspected he’d gone and done it.

Whatever had happened, he couldn’t talk about it. Therefore, it must have been dangerous and potentially horrible. She remembered reading about Hiroshima and Nagasaki in school, about terrible burns and fatal radiation sickness, and felt a chill in her veins. They could have died. Morse— Morse could have died. The thought of losing him made an invisible fist clench her gut until she gasped.

It would never change. Morse wouldn’t change. His need to protect meant he’d rush toward danger while others fled it. Same as her dad, really. But her dad always remembered he had a family to come home to. What did Morse have?

She felt sure he cared about her. If she was getting better at reading between the lines, it was in large part due to him and his reticence. She’d caught the glances, the way he hesitated when he spoke to her. And, after twice as much hinting and encouragement as any other bloke would need, he’d started taking her out. He liked spending time with her, she was certain of that.

Another man would have staked some sort of claim by now. But this was Morse. If over-thinking were a sport, he’d lead Britain’s Olympic team. He could talk himself out of anything. And if she waited for him to make a move, they’d likely grow old and grey first. Well, it was almost 1968, which was a leap year. Nothing wrong with declaring Sadie Hawkins Day a little early. And it was a new era— women were aiming for real equality now.

But she wasn’t going down on one knee. These tights were brand new, and she didn’t want to ruin them.

 

“What’s with the suitcase?”

“Let me in and I’ll tell you.” Once inside, Joan put down her suitcase and drew a deep breath. “We get along quite well, don’t we?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“You don’t mind having me around.”

“No, not at all. I— I like it, actually.”

“Coming home to someone.”

“Yes.” God, he was adorable when he was confused.

“And I don’t hog the blankets, or snore.”

“What?”

“So, all in all, we could probably share a small flat without driving each other spare.”

“Er, I suppose?” So confused. So adorable.

“You’re a good kisser.”

“I am?” Now he was blushing. She wished she could get this on film, to watch over and over. Especially for when he was being stroppy or driving her up the wall with his dithering.

“You are.” Joan drew a deep breath. “Morse, will you marry me?”

“What?!”

“I won’t be dead weight. Margot just officially made me deputy manageress at the shop, and a pay raise goes with it. Between the two of us, we’d do all right for ourselves. I wouldn’t want kids right away; you should probably be a sergeant before then, because I’d need some time off. And you don’t strike me as the sort to want a big noisy family, which is good, because I’d want to see how I do having one before planning on more, and two is probably my limit anyway.” She had to stop for breath.

“Miss Thursday— did you just propose to me?”

“It’s almost leap year,” she added lamely. He usually called her Joan now, and his choice of the more formal name made her heart sink, but she determined to bear his refusal gracefully. It was a mad idea, anyway, and maybe she wasn’t as good at reading between the lines as she’d thought.

“What does leap year have to do with it?” He was lost again.

“Sadie Hawkins Day? Only I didn’t want to wait. I know something horrible, or nearly horrible, happened at the power plant. And I thought you should know that— that there’s someone— who cares if you come home safe.” She would not cry. She. Would. Not. Cry. Even though he was wearing his kind look.

“You want to marry me? Why?” He sounded honestly taken aback.

“Because you’re a good man, and kind, and gentle, and brave. Because you have the most beautiful eyes in the world, and it feels like home when you hold me. Because I’d like to wake up beside you every morning. Because I like the way you kiss, and I’d love to know how you do— other things.” He’d turned redder and redder as she spoke, and she felt her cheeks burn too as she spoke of ‘other things.’ “And because I knew you’d overthink everything like you do, and talk yourself out of doing anything, and never make a move.”

He stepped closer. “I do overthink things. It’s but one of my many failings.”

“You need to learn to take a leap of faith sometimes.”

Another step. “I do.” And then he was practically standing against her. “I really do.” And he was cradling her face in his hands, searching her eyes, leaning down to kiss her, tentatively at first, then more deeply, his eyes dropping closed, and she could feel something inside him that was carefully banked flame up, and she closed her eyes and kissed him with her heart on her lips. And then time fell away, Morse pulling her close so that their bodies touched, and there was electricity in their veins.

When he spoke, his voice was ragged with need, and she loved the sound of it. “Are you sure?”

“Completely.” Her own voice was husky.

“We can register on Monday.”

“No. No registry office. I don’t want you to spend the next month second-guessing and talking yourself out of it for some stupid reason you think is noble. I’ve looked at train schedules, and there’s an express leaving for Scotland in an hour. We could be in Gretna Green before everything closes.”

“Elope? But what about your family?”

“They’ll understand, Morse. They know what you’re like.”

Morse raided his cash tin and checked his wallet. “I think I’ve got just enough to get us there and back, pay for the license and officiant, and buy your ring.”

Joan opened her purse. “I went to the bank yesterday and pulled out plenty of cash, in case my mad plan worked,” she admitted. She handed him a thick wad of banknotes. “I don’t want anyone thinking less of you just because I brought the money. It’s not your fault I blindsided you with an unexpected marriage proposal.” She looked up at him and they both burst out laughing.

Morse called the station to take a few days off. “Through Wednesday. I’ll be in Thursday morning. Personal reasons.” Then he packed his suitcase and phoned for a cab.

They made it to the station just in time to catch the express, the cabbie laughing good-naturedly and wishing them luck. “Are you really all right with this?” Joan asked as Morse helped her onto the train. “Having me take the lead?”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me, actually. It turns out I rather like being swept off my feet. At least by you.” The lingering kiss he gave her underlined his words.

 

Fred burst into the house. “Win! I have the most amazing news!”

“So do I!” He followed her voice to the lounge, where he found her holding a note, and his heart fell into his shoes. “It’s from Joan. She’s eloping with Morse!”

“What?” He grabbed the note and read it:

 

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_If you’re reading this, it means that my mad plan worked, and I’m whisking Morse away to Gretna Green to be married. I had to do it like this— left on his own he’d faff about and never make a move. Try not to be upset about missing a big wedding. If you really want to, we can have a party in a month or two, so I can prepare Morse for my embarrassing relatives. I don’t know how long we’ll be away— I’ll phone once I’ve made an honest man of him._

_Love, Joan_

 

Fred burst out laughing. “She’s got the lad figured out, pet. He would dither until the twelfth of never. She’s all but put out a red carpet for him lately, but he’s still been a ninny.”

“So you like it?” Win’s voice was hopeful.

“I do. She could scarce do better for herself than Morse. And I think she’ll be good for him.”

“That’s what I thought, too.”

“Shame the express has already left— I’d suggest hopping on ourselves to be surprise witnesses, and bother the Queen and her medals.”

“Wait, what? Fred? Did you just say _the Queen and her medals?_ ”

 

Actual anvil weddings had been outlawed years before, but Gretna was full of wedding venues. They found a cozy inn with an available room, dropped off their luggage, and freshened up, then Joan spotted a little chapel surrounded by asters and sunflowers. They put their names on the list, filled out the paperwork, and went in search of two rings they could afford. Simple, slender gold bands fit the bill.

Joan wore a pretty flowered shift dress, while Morse wore his newest suit. They made their vows and exchanged rings, leaving the chapel hand in hand in the sunset. There was a pub downstairs at the inn, where they had dinner and toasted each other with glasses of champagne.

“Mrs. Morse.”

“Endeavour.” He almost liked his name when she said it.

After dinner they found a pay phone. “Mum? It’s Joan. Joan Morse now.” Standing beside her Morse could hear Win shriek at the other end. “Yes, Morse is right here, hoping Dad isn’t cleaning his gun.”

“Joanie!” he hissed.

“She says Dad’s over the moon. They both are. Here, squeeze in close. No need to stand on ceremony.” Joan tilted the handpiece so they could both hear.

“We’re both so happy for you. But you missed the big news.” Win quickly told them about the George medals, and their appointment to meet the Queen. “It’s a shame you’ll have to miss it. Oh, and you’ve been appointed a sergeant by her, too, Morse. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Morse was thoroughly stunned. “It— it is.” The last obstacle he’d been been worried about was swept away just like that, and he gave a dazed little sigh of relief. A new future spread out before him, filled with love instead of loneliness, and he had a fleeting vision of a cozy house with sunny windows and a boy and girl who both looked like Joan.

“We’ll let her know you only missed it because you’re on your honeymoon. I hope you’re planning to spend a few days together. It’s so important, when you’re newly married— “

“Yes, Mum, we know,” Joan said quellingly. “We’ll be home Wednesday afternoon.”

 

Fred rang the station early Monday morning to speak to Bright. “Have you heard from Morse, sir?”

“He phoned on Saturday to say he would be out until Thursday morning. Is he ill?”

“No. He and my Joan hared up to Scotland and got married. He’s on his honeymoon.”

“Morse? Eloped? That sounds quite unlike him.”

“Joan decided she’d had enough of his dithering and asked him herself, flat out. All but carried him off to Scotland. We heard from them after the ceremony, but not a peep since, so I think they’re keeping one another busy.”

“She proposed to him?”

“Yes, sir, she did. It’s a new age, I suppose. I need the day off, or at least part of it. I have Morse’s spare key, and Win just went over to see if they needed anything. Well, of course, Morse being Morse they need everything. She rang me in a right state, and is insisting we go to Burridge’s the moment they open and kit out the flat properly. I should be able to escape after lunchtime.”

“All right, you— you do that, Thursday. Morse eloped. Wonders never cease.” Bright hung up the phone, stunned.

Strange had poked his head in just in time to hear the last bit. “Sir? Excuse me— did you say— _Morse eloped?_ ”

“Ran off to Scotland with Thursday’s daughter.”

“That sly devil. He kept that close to his chest.” Strange looked proud of his friend.

“Apparently, she proposed to him.”

“Really?” Strange’s eyes were huge. “Girls can do that now? Wonder what else they can ask a bloke for?” He trailed off, lost in thought.

Thought Bright immediately discerned, perhaps because it had flittered across his mind too, before he’d clamped down on it. “Sergeant Strange! Was there a reason you’re in my doorway?”

“Oh! Er— uh— yes, sir. I have the Clemons paperwork, sir.”

 

Honeymoons were a lovely invention, Morse thought as he stretched lazily on Wednesday morning. He felt sated and relaxed down to the marrow of his bones. They’d spent the last few days roaming the countryside, often with a picnic lunch, talking, planning their future, and sometimes just walking hand-in-hand in companionable silence. He’d told her about the job in London, but that he’d decided to turn it down now that he was a sergeant.

And they’d spent quite a bit of time holed up in their room together. Joan had learned that Morse’s idea of pillow talk tended toward the philosophical, until she broke into giggles over whatever tangent he’d wandered onto and distracted him with kisses or lightly smacked him with a pillow. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much, or felt so loved.

Joan was still asleep, her hair tumbling over her face, and he gently moved a lock of it out of the way to kiss her cheek before getting up. He shaved and dressed, then went downstairs.

“The usual morning tray, Mr. Morse?”

“Yes, thank you. I’ll be sorry to leave. We’ve had a wonderful time here.” He took a tray of tea, toast, two boiled eggs, and fresh local butter and jam upstairs to their room. He’d found a way to waken Joan that he particularly enjoyed: dabbing a bit of jam on her lips and watching her taste it and wake up. “Good morning, Mrs. Morse.” When he kissed her, he could taste blackberries.

They caught the express at mid-morning, retracing Saturday’s journey, arriving in Oxford in mid-afternoon. At the foot of the little staircase, Morse unlocked the door and opened it. “Up you get, Mrs. Morse.” He swept her into his arms and carried her over the threshold, only to freeze in his tracks, gently setting her on her feet. “I know this is my flat— our flat. But what happened to it?”

“I suspect Mum happened, with some help from Dad.”

There was new bedding, new dishtowels in the kitchen, and a big wooden jar held cooking utensils. They went around the flat, finding new silverware in a kitchen drawer, a full set of dishes and glasses, pots and pans, and new towels in the bathroom, along with a matching rug.

There was an envelope on the bed addressed to _Mr. & Mrs. Morse_. The card inside had a lithograph of wedding bells and roses, and said _Congratulations on Your Wedding_. Inside Win had written a note:

 

_We wanted to do up the flat for you, especially since you didn’t have a shower or a big wedding with gifts. Hope you had a lovely honeymoon. Give us a ring when you get in— you’re invited for tea. Love, Mum and Dad._

 Underneath, she’d added:

 

_P.S: Morse— Welcome to the family_.


End file.
